


Will You Lay Down Your Armor

by interorbitalteeth



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: According to Wikipedia the Muslim version of the Devil is a lot different from the Christian version, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I used Latin as their common language, Joe calls Nicky a Frank because that was just the general term Muslims used for Christian crusaders, Joe uses flowery language to describe Nicky, M/M, Major references to Joe being a scholar and a lover of poetry, Nicky is working through some complex emotions, Not first meeting but close to that, Not so much flowery language in this chapter cuz it feels very out of place, Putting the warning tag on there just in case, The Crusades, The Siege of Jerusalem, This really happened in history it's fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interorbitalteeth/pseuds/interorbitalteeth
Summary: Treading into enemy territory unarmed, Yusuf attempts to form an alliance with Nicolo.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Baby steps into writing these two. The title comes from the song "Two Men In Love" by The Irrepressibles. In my opinion, it is THE Joe and Nicky song.

The enemy camp smells like unwashed men and spilled alcohol, of cooking meat and smoke from fires. It's enough to make Yusuf hold back disgusted gagging as he sneaks his way through the rows of tents, past nickering horses and snoring knights. He's unsure of where his fellow immortal sleeps, but it can't be far away from the other Christians. At this point Yusuf could probably identify the man by voice alone, even if all these Franks sound nearly the same. It turns out that every man has a unique sound they make when they die. Not that he's here to kill him.

No, Yusuf is unarmed, on a mission of peace. He intends to make an offer to the unkillable Christian, one of allyship. After all, they seem to have more in common with eachother than they do with their own people at this point. By whatever blessing or curse this is, neither of them are able to die. And if they cannot die, what's the point of killing eachother?

After what seems like hours of searching, ducking into corners and crouching behind tents, Yusuf finally comes upon the man he's been seeking. The Frank looks quite different without his armor, almost helpless. Brown-yellow hair gleams soft silver in candlelight, pale skin glows. He's knelt over in prayer, hands clasped, murmuring softly. Yusuf cannot help but stare for a long moment. How can a filthy Christian look so beautiful?

The moment is lost when the man's head jerks up, turning to stare right at Yusuf with shock and rage. Yusuf panics, diving into the tent and slapping his palm over the Christian's mouth, pinning him to the ground between his knees. He sees the livid hatred burning in those grey-blue eyes and wonders if he's making the right decision.

“Quiet!” he hisses, and the man's face slackens with recognition of the Latin. “I am not here to hurt you!”

The Frank pushes him off and scurries crablike back against the wall of the tent. His eyes are still wild with rage and fear.

“If you are not going to hurt me, then what are you doing here?” he whispers. Yusuf can see his hand scrabbling around for his sword and knows he has very little time to say what he needs to.

“I come to you with an offer of truce. An alliance, even. To join together. We have so much more in common than we do with our fellows. Join me, and we can know peace.”

His fellow immortal thinks for a moment, frowns, then shakes his head. Yusuf's heart sinks a lot lower than he expected it to.

“No, no, I cannot. I cannot ally with a heathen,” he says solemnly. “It is against God, against sense. I should kill you again, right now.”

The Frank stands, unsheathing his sword and stepping towards Yusuf, still prone on the ground. Oh well, it was a foolish idea anyway. They really are too different. He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable agony. But it doesn't come.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees the man above him, sword held high, about to drive it through Yusuf's chest. But the sword hangs in the air, held by shaking hands. Is he imagining it, or is his immortal enemy weeping?

“I cannot,” the man finally says, his voice broken. “I cannot kill an unarmed man. But I cannot be with you, I cannot leave my purpose.”

Yusuf begins to scoot closer, inexplicably heartbroken by the sound of the Frank's weeping. He sounds so conflicted, so terrified. Like he is struggling with his very nature.

“Do not come closer!” The sword comes down, barely missing Yusuf's shoulder. “Go! Leave now! Before I change my mind!”

Yusuf changes direction and scrambles out of the tent. He can hear the man continue to weep behind him, and it takes an astonishing amount of willpower not to turn back and comfort him. Why does it hurt his heart so badly to see the other man in such distress?

He's barely halfway down the row of tents before he's surrounded. A trio of Franks appear as if solidifying from shadow. Their mouths are twisted in grimaces of hatred far more intense than Yusuf saw on the face of his immortal enemy.

One of them shouts something in a foreign language, and the others laugh. They stalk towards him, their imposing frames reminding Yusuf of predatory animals. Again, he braces himself for inevitable agony. They will only find more anger in the fact that he does not die.

Then, as though sent from above, he hears the voice of his fellow immortal. His voice now clear and sharp again. The men pause, look to where their fellow Christian is standing.

“Nicolo?” one of them says, followed by something Yusuf assumes means “what are you doing?”

“This man is unarmed,” his immortal enemy says in Latin, clearly for Yusuf's benefit. “It is a sin to kill an unarmed man.”

Two of the men seem to curse loudly before the other answers back in halting Latin.

“Is a sin not to kill a heathen man. Could be a spy, Nicolo. Why do you care?”

“Like I said, he is unarmed. Let him go. Before I make you.” His eyes turn steely in the torchlight.

“Then make us.”

What happens next is a whirlwind of blood and sweat and sand as the men unsheathe their swords and lunge at eachother. His fellow immortal is clearly outnumbered, but he moves with both speed and grace as he swings and dodges, his teeth bared like an angry dog. Yusuf stands aside transfixed, in awe of this man. Yes, he has seen him fight before, but not against fellow Christians, and certainly not with a ferocity like this. He is truly beautiful, this heathen man who has killed him several dozen times over the last few months.

When the melee ends, and the three men lie dead on the ground, his immortal enemy looks at him with wide, beseeching eyes. He doesn't need to say anything more, Yusuf already knows what must be done.

The two men dash for the paddock of horses, mounting them bareback and cutting their tethers with a swipe of a sword. They ride off into the setting moonlight, unlikely and accidental allies.

Many hours later, inside a crumbling manger high in the hills outside Bethlehem, he asks the obvious question.

“Why did you defend me?”

His immortal ally gives him a look that Yusuf can't quite place, somewhere between guilt and begrudging fondness.

“It is a sin to kill an unarmed man. And those men might have done something even worse than kill you. Especially once they found out that you cannot die.”

“They called you Nicolo,” Yusuf says. “Is that your name?”

“Yes. I am Nicolo di Genova. What is your name?”

“Yusuf Ibrahim Mohammed Al-Kaysani.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo whispers, as if he's trying out how the syllables feel against his tongue and teeth. Yusuf's never heard his name sound so good coming out of someone else's mouth. “We are now allies, Yusuf. Does that please you?”

Yusuf nods. Yes, yes it does. He can only hope that it pleases Nicolo as well. As he drifts off to sleep, he wonders what lies in store for them now. He wonders if this is what God wants, for them to join forces. But mostly he thinks about those grey-blue eyes full of guilt and begrudging fondness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo cautiously discuss faith and poetry.

When Yusuf wakes up the following evening, he half expects Nicolo to be long gone. To have slit his throat in his sleep and fled into the desert. But there he is, knelt by a small fire, hands clasped, lips moving over the whispered Latin.

“- but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen. Glory be to the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. Amen.”

Yusuf turns away, almost embarrassed to stare at Nicolo during what must be a private and important ritual in his faith. Besides, he can hear the call to evening prayer echoing from the town center in Betlehem, and he has his own devotions to attend to, with a pang of guilt that he neglected the other four calls.

When Yusuf is finished praying, he looks up to see that Nicolo has been staring at him as well. His sharp cheekbones and large nose cast deep shadows across his face.

“I was wondering, Yusuf, does your God disapprove of your alliance with me?” Yusuf expects there to be mockery in his voice, but there is none, just honest curiosity.

“I believe that God, in His unknowable wisdom, has brought us here, to know eachother,” he says slowly, thoughtfully. “Why else would He set me on a path to meet you? I do not know why, but I feel a deep connection to you, Nicolo. If God wills it, it cannot be wrong.”

Nicolo nods solemnly. “Yes, you are right, there is something connecting us. God called me to this place, to serve Him, and through that, I met you. I am only concerned that I am being misled, somehow. That the Devil is using you to...tempt me.”

He looks away suddenly, as if bashful. Yusuf can't help but wonder what kind of temptation Nicolo is talking about. Is the Christian Devil that powerful, for him to believe that he can doom people like that, even people of such strong faith? Yusuf has never contemplated what it would be like to be a Christian before, but now he thinks it must be very difficult.

The two men sit by the fire, watching the half Moon rise.

“...the moon, eclipsing, lost the light of half its eye,” Yusuf mumbles in Arabic.

Nicolo looks at him with confusion.

“It is a poem about the Moon,” Yusuf explains in Latin. “It is actually about an eclipse, but the half -moon tonight reminded me of it. 'The moon, eclipsing, lost the light of half its eye.' I can translate the whole thing into Latin, if you want to hear it.”

Nicolo nods. “That would be nice. I have not heard an Arabic poem before.”

“Whenas the swarming flood of night

Was ebbing from the sky

The moon, eclipsing, lost the light

Of half its eye.

The moon, a blacksmith's mirror seemed

That furnaced, more and more,

Glowed, till the fiery crimson streamed

Of blackness o'er.”

Nicolo sighs in contentment, staring up at the sky. Yusuf can't help but smile. He looks so peaceful sitting there, his long hair flowing away from his face, his eyes flickering back and forth between Yusuf, the fire, and the Moon. Again, Yusuf is struck by his beauty.

“I must admit, your people do have a way with words,” Nicolo finally says. “Part of me wishes I could hear it in its original language. There is always something lost when translating a work.”

Yusuf makes a sound of agreement. The two men continue to watch the Moon rise high into the sky, at peace if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is called "Moon In Eclipse," and it's originally by Ibn Ḥamdīs al-ʾAzdī al-Ṣīqillī, an 11th-century Sicilian Muslim poet, and was translated into English by Marlé Hammond in her book "Arabic Poems." It's often associated with desire or longing. The Catholic prayer translations come from thesacredheart.com.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolo and Yusuf eat and are reminded of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you saw a different Chapter 3 go up yesterday, your eyes haven't deceived you! I decided it would be best to put some more short interstitial chapters between Chapter 2 and their return to Jerusalem, to make the pacing and tone fit better.)

In the morning, Yusuf is able to make his way down to the marketplace in Bethlehem. He had a small amount of money on him when he went to form an alliance with Nicolo that night, so he's able to get some produce as well as a little bit of mutton. He also takes advantage of the local bathhouse, scrubbing the dirt and tiredness from his body in the warm water. By the time he returns to their encampment, Nicolo has started a fire and is waiting rather impatiently for him.

“I was beginning to worry you had abandoned me here,” he says. “What have you brought to eat? I am starving.”

Yusuf spreads out his haul in front of the other man, who inspects it with curiosity. It's clear that he hasn't seen some of these items before, as he points to them and asks for their names. Yusuf attempts to translate their names as best he can into Latin, but clearly there's a lot lost in translation, especially when he attempts to explain what kefir is to Nicolo, and the only description he can think of is “sour milk, but not cheese.” Fortunately, Nicolo is clearly delighted by the novelty of dates, claiming that he has never eaten something as sweet before.

As the meat crackles away on makeshift spits, the two of them sit back and enjoy the small amount of shade the manger provides. It's around midday, and the sun bakes the landscape, hot and unrelenting. Nicolo is clearly not dealing with it well, as he keeps shifting and moving his head and torso so that he can avoid the heat.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Yusuf finally asks him. “You should probably take off all that heavy leather you're wearing. It traps heat, you know.”

Nicolo grunts and glares at Yusuf, clearly not in the mood for unsolicited advice.

“It is just there is no shade in this place,” he says. “At least when it got this warm in Genoa, there would be trees you could lie under. Here the trees are so crooked and have so few leaves that it's impossible to get away from the heat.”

“Is that where you are from? Genoa?”

Nicolo nods, struggling with the lacing on his leather breastplate. “Yes. 'Di Genova' means 'of Genoa' in my language. It is very far away from here.” He frowns, looking mournful for a moment. “I miss it terribly.”

Yusuf nods. He, too, misses his home. The port on the Mediterranean, the white stone buildings, the marketplace bustling with people of all races and colors. His father reading the Qu'ran while his mother made the evening meal. The children playing in the streets. And oh, the library, with its stacks of volumes and scrolls, the smell of ancient ink and paper. He sighs.

When the meat is finished, they eat it off the spits, hot fat scalding their fingers for only moments before the wounds miraculously heal. Nicolo bemoans the lack of pork in this area of the world, which almost puts Yusuf off his meal. The idea of Nicolo feasting on an unclean animal turns his stomach in all sorts of different ways. When he tells him as such, Nicolo scoffs and contends that pork is very tasty.

They scrub their hands clean with sand and Nicolo lies down to take a nap in the growing shade, apparently too sated to complain about the heat anymore. Yet again, Yusuf is struck by his beauty. His growing affections for the infidel do disturb him, but he tries to ignore the impulses as best he can. Besides, he can't imagine Nicolo looking at him with the same quiet desire. It's best to put it off his mind entirely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo struggle with faith, purpose, and impure thoughts.

On the fourth morning, Yusuf awakens to see Nicolo staring at him warily, a strange look on his pale face. It's not a look of hatred or malicious intent, far from it. It's a look of curiosity, of wary fascination. Almost as soon as it's there, it's gone, as they lock eyes and Nicolo quickly looks away. He stands up, all broad shoulders and muscular legs, and walks over to the fire to poke at the embers with a stick. Yusuf can hear him murmuring prayers under his breath.

“-from the temptations of evil thoughts; that we may worthily become a fit habitation for The Holy Spirit. Glory be to the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. Amen.”

Yusuf sighs, and turns to his own morning prayers. He wonders what sort of “evil thoughts” Nicolo is trying to ward off. The idea both terrifies and secretly delights him. But he knows he must also not give into temptation. Having impure thoughts for a Christian infidel would be a deep sin against God.

The thoughts, however, occupy his mind the entire day, as he goes to the market for food and to the bathhouse to wash. He scrubs and scrubs at his skin, feeling dirty, impure. Lustful thoughts about a Christian! Not only a Christian, but an invading Frank! It is a long time before he returns to their encampment, and he tries not to reveal his sour mood to Nicolo as they eat their meal.

It's clear that Nicolo is also dealing with some mental duress, as he hardly speaks during the meal and his eyes keep darting along the horizon, anywhere but at Yusuf. Finally, he speaks, his voice strained.

“I came here to serve God, to serve him in actions and not just words,” he says. “I was a priest, a holy man, a servant of God. I took up arms against the heathens, to bring Jerusalem back into Christian hands. But you.”

He looks at Yusuf almost pleadingly.

“You are not like them. The demons I came to fight against. You are a good man, Yusuf. Despite your heathen ways, you are a good man. And I am conflicted because of that. Because of you, I know that not all the people I've fought against are monsters. But what am I supposed to do with that information?”

Yusuf sits there, staring into Nicolo's eyes for what seems like hours. A beautiful man, conflicted in his faith to his God and his duty. The same way Yusuf has begun to feel.

“I do not know,” Yusuf says, looking down and away. “I must admit, I am beginning to feel the same way about you and your people. You are a good man, Nicolo. A strange man, but good. Your heart is for your God, and there is no fault in that. I also traveled here to fight men that I was told were monsters. And yes, some of them may be such, but you are different. I am beginning to believe that we were destined to meet, to become allies. God has given me a gift, and you share that gift. It has to mean something.”

Nicolo nods. “If that is true, then I suppose nothing else matters. If this is God's will, I must follow it. We must stay together, you and I. Maybe it will even give us understanding of why we have been given such a gift.”

His words warm Yusuf's heart far more than he would've ever expected. Nicolo wants to be here, to stay with him. Yusuf does wish that it would be for his own sake, and not the sake of his God, but it's better than nothing at all. After all, who knows what will become of this alliance, of this blossoming friendship? Only God knows, and only time will tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prayer Nicolo says comes from ourcatholicprayers.com.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolo return to Jerusalem, and are confronted with the carnage of the broken siege.

Eventually, they must return to Jerusalem. The small amount of money Yusuf had on him is nearly gone, and the locals are becoming suspicious of this new man coming into the market every day to buy food and bathe in the bathhouse. The stench of body odor coming off of Nicolo by now is completely unbearable, as it would be unwise for him to enter town and bathe, a lone pale-skinned body among many brown ones. Besides, he refuses to, calls the bathhouses “sinful” and “full of bodily temptations.” And above it all, Yusuf feels incredibly unsafe without his saber at his side. So they must return to Jerusalem.

The can see and smell the burning city from a long way off, especially in the darkness of the night. Yusuf heart sinks into his shoes, knowing that the worst has come to be. Nicolo voices his worst fears.

“The siege has been broken,” he says flatly. “God's army has claimed the holy city.”

“Does this not bring you joy? Your people have won.”

Nicolo looks at him for a long time, as if unable to think of a reaction that would not cause Yusuf to fall into a blind rage. That the other man would even consider his feelings on the matter is oddly touching.

“We shall see,” is all he finally says.

As they draw close to the city, the true horror begins to dawn upon both of them. Bodies lay strewn upon the sand, liquefying in the heat. It takes hours for them to pick their way through the piles of corpses, gagging as they go. Yusuf sees Nicolo scanning the faces of the dead, and realizes he must be looking for his fellow Franks, people he knew and cared about. Yusuf himself prefers not to search for familiar faces.

But it is not until they sneak past the guarded gates of the city that the scale of destruction is fully revealed. They choose to separate for the time being, knowing that it is unwise for them to be seen together. Even so, Yusuf ends up falling on the sword of a patrolling Frank, and as he lies there on the ground he begins to realize that he has seen very few of his own people alive in this city. Not even women and children have survived the invading Franks, and his heart burns with rage. Is this the true nature of the Christian infidels, of Nicolo's people? Are they really such monsters as to indiscriminately kill the defenseless and innocent?

Yusuf finally reaches the building where he was staying, mercifully almost untouched by the violence. He grabs his saber, a bedroll, his savings, two or three books from his collection, and a few changes of clothes and stuffs them into his bag. All the while he mutters curses against the Franks under his breath. They must answer for this slaughter, Nicolo himself must answer for this slaughter! All the time they shared together, the poems Yusuf recited to him, the discussions they had about faith and duty and their Gods, it all feels like a cruel joke now.

Nicolo is nowhere to be seen when Yusuf returns to their meeting place outside the gates, and even though his heart is filled with anger, a small part of Yusuf is still concerned about the other man. Was he captured as a traitor, or possibly worse, had he rejoined his people to continue the slaughtering of innocents? But then he hears a familiar voice, speaking in its native tongue.

Nicolo is yelling at a fellow Christian, and though Yusuf cannot understand the words, he can understand the rage and sorrow in Nicolo's voice. And he surely can understand the wail of agony that comes next. Before he can stop himself, Yusuf is running towards the noise, saber raised high. Nicolo has been hurt or killed, and once the Franks figure out that he cannot die, they will exact their vengeance on him in other, crueler ways. Yusuf must protect him, though if asked, he would not be able to say why.

He sees them now, Nicolo bleeding out on the ground, the Frank standing above him. All his anger at what has happened here surges through Yusuf as he attacks, his saber biting into the man's neck. The Christian man gurgles and drops to the ground, twitching, then he is still. Yusuf pants, standing above him, and he spits on the ground next to him, muttering every curse he can think of in the moment.

Nicolo begins to revive, heaving himself up onto his elbows and turning to look at Yusuf. Yusuf is shocked to see that he's been weeping again, tear tracks obvious on his dirty face. He coughs loudly, then speaks, his voice a trembling whisper.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he says. “The women, the children, the old and sick....they killed all of them, Yusuf. Slaughtered them like animals. This is not God's will. These men had the Devil in their hearts, Yusuf. This is not God's will!”

He begins to weep again, and all the anger Yusuf feels begins to drain out of him. Clearly Nicolo is just as sickened and distraught by this carnage as he is. Nicolo had mentioned that he had been a holy man before joining the fight in the East. The guilt and sorrow he must feel now, the rage and confusion. Though Nicolo himself is no innocent, he is unlike these other men. Nicolo is not a monster.

“Let us leave, Nicolo, before we are discovered,” Yusuf says, extending a hand, a gesture of peace and solidarity. Nicolo grasps it and pulls himself to his feet. Together, they exit the ruined city, and ride into the night, leaving the carnage and bloodshed, as well as their past selves, behind them.


End file.
